Branded
by Sketched Ink
Summary: In a universe where the turian's won the first contact war, and as a result took the humans as their slaves. Because of this, most humans still with their freedom are on the run. This is a story about Captain Garrus Vakarian, aka Archangel, commissioned human hunter, and Commander Jane Shepard, captured war criminal, realizing the line between lover and enemy is as fine as silk.
1. Archangel

Hey there! Welcome to my newest story. I haven't written any ME fanfictions yet, so this is my first one. It is Shakarian, so it's a GarrusxFemshep fanfiction. Sorry if that doesn't float ur boat, if not, why on earth did you click on this story you silly goose? It's AU, but for those of you who don't know, that stands for alternate universe, please don't let that put you off, give it a go first, I like the idea (but then again I am a little biased). So, this is based before the first contact war, so before the reapers and before the law about slavery in the citadel is passed. Dont worry, all will make sense in the end :) This story is founded on the idea that the humans lost the first contact war, and are being rounded up by the turians as slaves. Yes a little far-fetched, but judge after you've read the story.

* * *

Garrus was furious. His mandibles flickered impatiently as he strode towards the meeting chamber. "_What a time to hold a meeting_," he complained silently. Both Palaven's moons shone serenely on the sleeping planet. He understood the urgency behind the late night meeting. They finally had her cornered. Two whole years after the first contact war ended and they had finally pinpointed the location of Commander Shepard and her ship, the Normandy. It both fascinated, and worried him, that one female human, managed to defeat nearly every recon team the military sent to apprehend her.

After humans were defeated in the First Contact War, the turian military claimed the race's survivors as slaves. Those captured were branded and used to do menial tasks throughout Palaven. Occasionally though, the Turian military would be informed of rogue groups of humans, trying to stay off the radar. These groups would be dealt with quickly and quietly by small task forces, one of these task forces lead by Garrus.

Normally, a rogue group of humans wouldn't qualify for a meeting of this size, but this was no ordinary rogue group. This ship, and its leader, were a definite exception. The Normandy was led by one of the most wanted war criminals from the First Contact War. Commander Shepard had been a formidable enemy when the Turians attacked. Reports said she was responsible for at least five thousand Turian deaths, some say single handedly. The Turian government would do just about anything to get their hands on her.

The Turian military had received an anonymous tip-off that Shepard would be in the Omega cluster at 0700 hours, three days from now. As a result, his leaders had called An emergency mission for anybody who knows anything to finally capture The Normandy. While Garrus was not a highly ranked officer, he was far from an average soldier. The only reason he had been summoned to the meeting was because he was the only turian who had ever fought Commander Shepard in close combat and survived. He was also the only son of General Vakarian, and it was expected he would follow in his father's footsteps.

The meeting room doors glowed soft silver in the moonlight. The doors swished softly as he stepped in, nodding to the guards as he went. The dark, circular room gave off an ominous feeling, and Garrus drew in his mandibles tensely. Everyone else was already seated. The turian generals sat at a crescent shaped table that surrounded their newest Primarch. Officers of less importance sat at long tables facing them. His father made no move to show he acknowledged his son's entrance to the room, but this was a normal occurrence. The Moonlight flowed through the large window behind the council in a solid bar, making them give off a ghostly white glow. Garrus took his seat in the centre of the table, just as the new primarch began to speak.

"Now Captain Vakarian is present," he began, voice tinged with annoyance, "we may begin. As many of you are aware, we've received an anonymous tip as to the location of Jane Shepard's next port", He paused as an exited murmur ran through the Officers. But their excited anticipation only irritated Garrus further. Memories of grenades and submachine-gun fire, flame red hair and fierce green eyes played themselves across his pupils. If they went out with only this menial bit of information, they would all die. The Primarch spoke up again, "We need to send out a team to deal with this situation once and for all. The only reason we have failed so far is because they had the home-field advantage."

Garrus gripped the table in front of him tightly, his claws dug into the wooden surface. "_They knew nothing" _he thought scathingly_._ He'd lost twenty men on his first mission as captain against this woman, without taking her out, and she'd left him with the parting present of a missile to his face. _"I might not like the human, but they have no idea how dangerous she really is."_ A good Turian would sit there, emotions firmly in check, and warn them of the dangers of underestimating Shepard. Garrus was not a good Turian.

"With all due respect, sir, we're going to need a giant plan to take down The Normandy without casualties". The other officers muttered disapprovingly at his outburst, but he dismissed them. The generals stared at him in silence for a moment or two, before nodding. The general who spoke earlier stood up, "Acknowledged. This is why we've involved you, Vakarian. You're the only trustworthy link we have to Shepard. You two have a history." The constant twittering of the other officers was nearly drove him over the edge. Yet, irritatingly, it was true. He was the only Turian who had faced Shepard, not once but four times, and survived. Luckily, Shepard didn't know who he was.

Code-named Archangel; tall; excellent with a sniper rifle and more than adequate with an assault rifle; Turian; blue and black armor; facial scar. That was all anybody under general rank knew about Archangel, including Shepard.

As far as Shepard is concerned, Archangel and Garrus Vakarian were completely unrelated. Garrus Vakarian, however, was known throughout Palaven. He was a captain who never failed his missions; until it came to Shepard. The public, however, didn't need to know about that little detail.

Close to growling, Garrus stood up, commanding everyone in the room's full attention. "Request to lead the attack, sir", Garrus saluted. This was no certain question, and there was definitely no guaranteed outcome. Some generals would have nothing against him leading the attack, due to his experience with the matter. Others, including his father, would question his abilities, as he'd failed to capture the fugitive up till now. General Vakarian stood up, and Garrus tensed unconsciously.

"Captain Vakarian, I believe that you are the most suited to leading this mission. Due to your previous unsuccessful missions, however, I have no choice but to doubt your compatibility with this assignment".

His father's cold gaze stared out at him as he would to any other soldier. Garrus felt his wounded pride swell in indignation. "I understand your concern, Sir, but I assure you. Commander Shepard won't get away this time". The generals discussed his words, in hushed tones for a few moments before their calculating eyes once again focused on him.

"Captain Vakarian, you will lead this mission. Do not let our trust in you be misplaced."

* * *

The _Arteria_ glided like a silver predator through black space towards the Omega cluster. Garrus paced the length of his room. He was commanding a regiment of 20, along with a council Spectre. Effectively, he was being babysat.

Nihlus wasn't too bad himself, if a bit superior. As a spectre, he could afford to be. Garrus was slightly envious about the lack of red tape Nihlus dealt with. Yet the duties of a Spectre were intense, and often difficult, so Garrus endured. He sighed and laid back on his bed. The intercom buzzed and announced they were an half an hour until they hit the system Shepard and the _Normandy_ were meant to be stopping in to refuel. It seemed as if Shepard had killed one too many people, or forgotten to pay her fuel bills, as their 'anonymous' tip off had turned out to be the owner of the fuel deport.

The cost of fuel was going up these days, and a rogue group of humans could only earn so much money. Garrus wouldn't be surprised if she had to make cutbacks, especially since she'd been on the run for two years now. Garrus subconsciously rubbed his scar. His normally rough and abrasive plates were smooth and cracked. A year and a half after the incident, he still got twinges of pain from it every now and then.

_Her burning red hair swirled like fire. The fury that graced her face whenever he killed one of her team. Shepard grinned fiercely as she fired a missile at him. The world stilled as it rushed towards him. She was unforgettable. He was certain she hadn't forgotten him either. Archangel was infamous with the humans. He had taken too many lives in the First Contact War to ever be forgiven. In fact, he was pretty confident that if the tables had been turned, and the humans had won the First Contact War, he'd be the one on the run from Commander Shepard. _

The intercom buzzed again, notifying the crew they had entered the system. The team would be taking an unmarked shuttle to the fuel depot. They didn't want Shepard turning tail and running at the first sight of a turian symbol. The regiment planned to stay hidden until the ship had docked at the depot. As Shepard went to pay, they would be there waiting, allowing Nihlus to board the _Normandy_ from the _Arteria_. That was the plan, anyway. Given the short amount of time to plan, it was the best idea the strategists had, despite the loop-holes. Many lives, both human and turian, rested on Garrus' shoulders. The generals were observing the mission remotely through Garrus' visor with bated breaths.

Garrus walked through his ship, nodding to his crew as he went. He made quite an image with his battle-scarred armour and fierce blue eyes, and crew-members rushed to man their stations as he passed, none wanting his gaze turned on them. His team was ready and waiting by the docking bay when he arrived. Sidonis, his second in command, stood to attention, his toxic green armour shining. Shepard was due to arrive in half an hour, which would give his team had enough time to get into position without arousing suspicions. Oh his way out he nodded to Nihlus - they both knew their jobs - and stepped out _The Arteria._

* * *

Jane Shepard watched tensely as The Normandy docked at the fuel deport. A foreboding feeling twisted through her. This was one of the last fuel deports that she trusted, but in her last communication with the owner, something had felt off. She was reluctant to leave her ship unprotected. The _Normandy_ had become a haven for civilians and was nowhere near battle prepared. Ashley could handle herself, but without Jacob and Miranda on board, she wasn't sure how well they'd fare against a turian ship. Shepard sighed tiredly and tucked a lock of crimson hair behind her ear. Truth be told, she missed earth. "_Hell, everyone missed earth,"_ she thought wryly, _"everything's gone to shit since the turians attacked and with Archangel out there hunting us, we're like sitting ducks."_

A worry line creased her brow, and she gripped the window ledge tighter. Captain Anderson had stopped returning her messages, and she couldn't help but be worried that Archangel had gotten his group too. She began to walk towards the airlock to go order her fuel when a young boy of about nine ran up to her with a piece of paper clutched in his little hands. Jane grinned happily and knelt down so she was on his level.

"Hey there Picasso, what's your latest masterpiece?" The boy, actually named Leon, grinned up at her.

"I drew you", he giggled and thrust the crayon picture towards her.

Jane took the picture in her hands and pretended to ponder at it for a moment, before grinning down at him. "Your greatest masterpiece yet", she announced.

Shepard smiled as Leon's peals of laughter lit upthe dull grey metal of the hulls. This was the reason she fought. Shepard had faced platoons of Turian warriors, Turian spectres and hopeless situations and came out on top only with the burning need to protect the civilians in the forefront of her mind. Shewould not allow these innocent people to become slaves to those giant bird-bugs.

The Normandy was crowded with them, as many as she could fit on she did, and they had long passed the recommended number of passengers The Normandy could carry. Every available space was used to house civilians. Shepard had even given up her quarters for the many bedrolls needed to accommodate their numbers.

Thanking Leon for his drawing, she made her way onto the fuel deport. Smiling down at her gift, she heard the doors to the pay booth swish open and closed behind her, still looking at the picture. She only realized something was wrong when she heard the sounds of twenty-one weapons clicking almost simultaneously.

A prickle of annoyance at her stupidity ran down her spine. She raised her head slowly, taking in the platoon of Turians with weapons all trained on her. Forest green eyes flickered around the room, taking in their positions, her percentage of success, and if the group was led by Archangel. She couldn't see him anywhere, but she wasn't convinced. She'd fought him enough to know that his sniping skills and instincts were second to none. Nearby, a storage crate had fallen off the pile in the corner, and was just close enough for her to take cover behind if things got messy, as they undoubtedly would. A soldier in poison green armour stepped forward, gun trained on her forehead.

"One move and your pretty brains get blown all over the wall behind you," it growled.

_"Definitely not Archangel, that wasn't his style_." She though. "Is this measly group meant to take out the great Commander Shepard?" she sneered. "They didn't even think me to be important enough to send Archangel? I feel a little disappointed."

Her hand crept towards her pistol slowly. She'd just grasped the handle when a strong large hand grasped her wrist. She snarled and was about to twist her body when she felt the butt of an assault rifle pressed into her back. She stilled instantly.

A familiar smooth voice sounded from over her shoulder "wouldn't want you to be disappointed, it wouldn't be the same if I wasn't here", he breathed.

This was the closest she had ever been to him, and she itched to turn and see what he looked like. Jane plastered a confident smirk on her face and steadied her voice, "I'm sure we could've managed without you".

Shepard was tired of talking. Contorting her body in a way no Turian ever could, she twisted herself so that Archangel was in front of her with her pistol pressed to his temple. She was so close that she could smell the musky leather of his plates, and a spicy-sweet smell she couldn't place. Still exposed, she pushed Archangel away from her body and dove behind the storage crate just as shots began to ring out. Shots ricocheted off the crate to hit the wall behind her. She heard Archangel barking out orders not to waste heat sinks._ "I might not like the man,"_ she thought,_" but he can sure command his troops." _She heard the tell-tale pad of boots on metal, and rolled out from cover to meet her assailant.

It wasn't Archangel. A single shot to the temple and the soldier collapsed. His body hadn't even hit the floor before Shepard was attacking the next one. Jane fell into the familiar routine of dodging shots, and downing Turians before the fuel depot's speakers crackled to life. The screen on the far side of the room flickered to life as a security camera blinked on and focused on the woman.

"Commander Shepard, stand down. We have captured The Normandy. All the passengers are our hostages. If you don't stand down, we will kill everyone on board."

Shepard froze as a distinctly Turian voice crackled out over the speakers. Garrus recognized it as Nihlus. The screen switched to show a small boy kneeling on the ground of The Normandy, a shotgun held to his head. Both Garrus and Shepard hissed in shock and worry. Garrus' head was reeling; this wasn't part of the plan. All Nihlus had been told to do was capture the Normandy, no hostages involved. Garrus despised cowards who used hostages as a tool, let alone when he hadn't been informed of the plans. "Nihlus, what in the spirits do you think you're doing?" he spat through his radio. He didn't care that Shepard could hear him. He was utterly furious. _"The General's didn't send him to babysit," _he thought bitterly, _"They sent him to take control of the mission." _Nihlus didn't answer but the boy on screen opened his mouth to speak.

"Jane? Shepard? Um, I don't know if you can hear me, but the Turians have the ship. I can't find mummy, and I'm really scared", water began running from the boys eyes, and Garrus wondered what was wrong with him. Out of the corner of his eye, Garrus could see Shepard shaking with what he guessed to be fury; her usually confident smirk twisted into a pained snarl.

_"How dare they"._ Shepard was beyond furious, she was livid. Leon was forced to his knees with a gun pressed to his temple. _"Didn't they have any sort of moral? Leon is an innocent. A child!" _Shepard felt helpless, and she hated it. A small, childish part of herself felt slightly disappointed at Archangel, but a larger, battle-weary part quickly doused it. It was strategy it's finest, taking her strengths and turning them to weaknesses. Taking her need to protect the civilians and instead of giving her determination, forced her to drop her guns. Already resigned to her fate, Jane was determined to do everything in her power to save them.

The boy rubbed his face with his arm for a moment, before smiling fiercely at the camera. Despite the water running in rivets down his face, he grinned a grin so Shepard that Garrus felt as if he'd been punched. "Don't do it Miss. I'll protect them. Don't surrender for us. We need you to kick Turian ass!"

Garrus heard a Turian on the other end swear, and saw the camera swivel to face Nihlus. "Shepard, if you don't surrender, we'll kill every human on your ship. If you do, we'll let them live. Your choice."

Garrus felt like hitting something. Sidonis stood up from behind the pile of crates he'd been hiding behind and walked confidently towards Shepard. Before Garrus could shout a warning, Sidonis was kneeling on the floor with Shepard's pistol trained on his skull. She reached inside his helmet and snapped off his radio before bringing it up to her face.

"Turian, I have a better option. How about you release my fucking ship before I kill every one of you, and I'll come quietly. Other option is I kill every single one if you and chuck your hides out the airlock. Your choice", she snarled.

Garrus let out a snorting laugh, but Shepard remained focused on the screen. Nihlus looked as if someone had pissed in his coffee. Garrus had never felt like someone deserved it more. Nihlus spluttered indignantly before having a hurried, hushed, conversation with his team. Garrus felt a strange sense of injustice for Shepard. Hostage taking was no business he had wanted to associate himself with.

"Nihlus, I'll take responsibility for this. It's either get Shepard, or die with nothing. It's an obvious choice". Garrus knew she could hear him but he couldn't spare her a glance. He stared at the screen to waiting to see Nihlus' reaction. All he could hope for was Nihlus being worried enough about the General's response to the mission that he'd want to blame the failure on Garrus.

After a few moments of tense silence, Nihlus reappeared on screen, "Fine. We will release your ship, provided you put down your weapons and give yourself up. No dirty business or you all die."

Shepard snorted, "I don't go back on my word," she stated at the camera, dropping her guns. Sidonis stood up at the loss of a gun to his temple, and Shepard sneered at him in disgust. Foreseeing his subordinate's violent intentions, Garrus intervened.

"Sidonis, take the team and report back to The _Arteria_. I'll escort Commander Shepard myself". Sidonis opened his mouth to argue, but Garrus cut him off. "Now private!" he snapped. Sidonis saluted and left, the tattered remnants of their team following after.

Shepard glanced at Garrus, her face void of emotion. He had to hand it to her, she sure had guts. It couldn't be easy to appear relaxed, the presence of her enemy, especially without her after their repeated battles could he read the fury in her green eyes and the way her pulsed fluttered like a hummingbird. Blood dripped steadily from where a bullet had grazed her was easy to forget just how physically fragile humans were, especially having faced her in combat. Garrus didn't find himself attracted to many, but at that moment, Shepard fulfilled both Turian and human ideals for beauty. Her strength was awe-inspiring, and her eyes burned furiously. Her hair fell in waves around the soft curves of her face. Swallowing down his confusion, Garrus approached her as if she were an apex-predator like him. His instincts were alert and sharp as he registered her complete stillness.

The tension could be cut with a knife as he crossed the room, not breaking eye contact once. The closer he got, the more apparent the height difference became. She was so tiny, like a china doll. "Are you going to co-operate, or do I have to restrain you," Garrus' sub-vocals would be easily understood by any Turian, the regret was obvious in his voice, yet to a human it would be lost, so Garrus was safe.

He had no reason to be regretful, but for some reason, he wished it could've happened differently. Maybe he was just being sentimental, but every time he envisioned their 'final battle', when one finally triumph over the other, he had always imagined a fair fight between just the two of them. No hostages. No unreasonable feeling that he had betrayed her. No messy emotions. _What was wrong with him?_

Shepard ignored him, and walked out the door, her pride swirling around her like a cloak. Garrus was unable to do anything but follow in silence. He could tolerate her snarky grins, sarcasm and taunts, but this awful silence made his plates itch. Desperate to diffuse the situation, he tapped at the glowing screen of his Omni-tool and hacked into Nihlus' date banks. He located the only antidote to the situation, information.

They'd reached the doors that separated them from The _Arteria_, and Garrus cleared his throat awkwardly, before reaching out to softly gasp Shepard's arm. "I, uh, The Normandy's off our scanners, there's no way we could track them now. And-" he faltered a moment, before looking her in the eyes, "and I'm ashamed we used your crew like that to get to you. It wasn't right, wasn't decent, and you didn't deserve it," he finished awkwardly. Immediately regretting his little speech, Garrus withdrew his hand.

"Thank you", she whispered. Garrus' mandibles widened a little in shock. Her green eyes were looking up at him with a human expression he couldn't place. It was the first time they'd ever exchanged words without guns pointing to various parts of the other's body. He felt strangely at ease. Her unspoken forgiveness soothed the burns his regret had left like a cooling balm. Garrus reached around her to key in the code to open the door. A cold fury began to grow at the remembrance of Nihlus' actions. Questions would be answered whether the spectre liked it or not. Garrus would make sure of it.

* * *

Please leave a reveiw! :)


	2. Guilty

You're still here? Thanks guys

For the last chapter, I got loads and loads of lovely reviews form you guys, and I'm so grateful to you, you all make me so happy, but I did get one question I forgot to answer. A helpful person left a review saying that slavery is illegal in the citadel, so this is impossible. I'm not a crazy psychotic Mass Effect fan (and if you are, you rock for being so committed!) but I clearly stated in the note before the first chapter that this story does not exist in the current Mass Effect timeline! I've twisted the timeline, and sorry about that if its mucked up your inner clocks, and I'm aware of the slavery law, and just want to say that this fan fiction is based before this rule is passed, sorry if I didn't make myself clear. I love every single one of you that reviewed, and hope you continue to leave me feedback!

I don't have a beta, so if there are any mistakes, I'm really sorry, just point it out, and I'll fix it.

Sorry for my ramblings, on with the chapter!

* * *

The steel doors whooshed open to reveal Nihlus, waiting in tense silence. Garrus felt his instincts roar in protest at Nihlus' challenging stance, and felt a low rumbling growl escape his chest. Nihlus' cold eyes stared past his shoulder at their prisoner, before turning to stare accusingly at Garrus. Said prisoner was leaning casually against the wall behind Garrus, looking positively bored at the lack of action. A loud crash startled the three out of the tense silence as a young, uncoordinated recruit came sprinting out the airlock. He skidded to a halt in front of a startled Garrus, "Captain Vakarian! There's a problem in the hold sir!"

Shepard snorted. "_Captain Vakarian? Guess that scarring's from the missile. I'm surprised he has that much face left honestly"._ She figured Archangel had to be someone with more than substantial rank, but was expecting someone ranked similar to and Alliance Major or Colonel. She didn't doubt his skill, but she was confused at how a captain, even with that level of training, was able to get such high level missions? The puzzle pieces about the mysterious and dangerous Turian beginning to fall into place, but the gaping hole in the center had Shepard reeling.

Garrus wanted to throttle the young turian. His successfully-kept alias was now utterly useless. He heard a snort from behind him, and his mandibles flickered in irritation, "At ease private", Even with years of training and discipline, it took every ounce of Garrus' self-control to not scold the, obviously green, private. "Get one of the engineers to deal with it; I'm rather occupied at the moment."

"Yes sir!" The private saluted and sprinted back into the ship.

Nihlus gave Garrus one last critical look before turning heel and entering The Arteria. "I trust you to deal with your responsibility now, Vakarian", he called over his shoulder.

_Brilliant._ Garrus felt a headache coming on as he turned to face his responsibility. Said responsibility casually leaned against the steel wall with one eyebrow cocked mockingly.

"Captain Vakarian? And here I was thinking the capture of the most dangerous rogue human would be someone more classy. I'm almost hurt "she taunted.

"Seems I have to disappoint you this time," he rumbled, irritated at the little human. "Just be grateful I'm not Nihlus, or you wouldn't be the only human on board".

Shepard's mouth snapped shut. Who knew if they'd keep their end of the bargain if she goaded her captors on.

* * *

Shepard paced the length of her cell. The cold steel walls seemed to press in on her, their concave properties accented the close proximity of her prison. _How on earth did I get here? A couple hours ago Ash and I were sitting in the mess laughing. Now I'm broiling in the God forsaken heat these turians seem to love_. Her only comfort was the distance her ship was putting between themselves and this steel giant.

Shepard felt a little sick when she thought about what was may happen to her when the ship reached Palaven, she tried to distract herself by concentrating on the aesthetics of her cell. The turians sure didn't just go halfway; even her cell was sleek and polished. It was a shame they'd decided to make the bed less comfortable than the floor though, "_Would've been nice to actually lay down while we travel. Apparently Archangel, make that Captain Vakarian's, pity only stretches so far. A pillow would be great about now." _

Thinking of Archangel caused a reluctant gratitude to bubble through her. For some reason, the turian had secured her crew's continued freedom, and even gone as far as to reassure her of their safety later._"Kind of hard to completely hate him when he goes and rescues my crew from Nihlus."_ A fuzzy intercom message interrupted her train of thought as it echoed through the empty hallway. alerting the crew that they would reach Palaven in less than five minutes.

Her fingers traced the bump from where she had been injected with some sort of suspicious looking green liquid. The brusque turian administering the injection explained it was designed to protect her body from Palaven's radiation. Shepard sighed. As much as she would deny it if questioned, she was lonely. The Normandy had become a refuge for so many in the past years. The once isolated military ship was now a loud, often boisterous home. Since leaving what she assumed was the med bay, they turian's had left her alone.

She felt a small smirk pull at the corners of her mouth at the thought of being able toverbally sparring with the turian captain, but he had fled her cell after unceremoniously dumping her there. She was so bored, Shepard could have even dealt with the vile turian in the green amour. With nothing else to do, she found herself thinking about Archangel. She'd heard of Captain Vakarian during the war, every recruit had. Not once had she envisioned herself feeling indebted to him, let alone wanting to spend any length of time with him during the long hours spent in this silver hell. Jane sighed and ran her hands through her hair, teasing out the knots the short battle had left. She could hear soft turian footsteps coming along the hallway to her door, and prepared herself for what waited for her when she exited the ship. It was going to be about as pretty as a rabid varren.

* * *

An expectant buzz echoed throughout the courtroom. Delegates from every race waited in anticipation to see the 'vicious murderer' Commander Shepard brought to justice. Garrus took his place in the front rows, seated between other high-ranking turian officials. They were joined by a krogan clan leader and an asari matriarch. Facing him, was another concave desk for the judge, who sat in solemn silence. A judge sat at a concave desk, facing the crowd room. Garrus scoffed, that turian was hardly a judge, more like a pion. He had enough experience to know that the higher-ups would never allow the judge to give her a kind sentence. Garrus was here to see Commander Shepard be sentenced to death, and therefore pay his respects.

Most humans were sentenced to work for the Turian council, or sent to an auction house, but every now and then a soldier above captain rank had been sentenced to death. Before Shepard, Garrus had been resigned to the fact that Alliance officers were made an example of, even if he didn't always agree. He'd always known it would happen when she was eventually caught. He had known as soon they sent Archangel after her. Shepard was the most wanted war criminal known to Palaven. The moment he locked that cell door, he knew her death warrant was signed.

What he hadn't planned on was the disgust he would feel once she was caught using underhanded tricks. After multiple, vicious encounters, he had grudgingly begun to respect the human. That respect only grew when she sacrificed herself for the civilians housed on her ship. Now the only human who had ever earned his respect was being forced into a mockery of a trial that would inevitably end in her execution. And he was to blame.

Shepard walked with her head high, each step confident and assured, flanked by two heavily armed guards. A hush fell over the crowd, all heads except one turned to stare unabashed at the criminal. Her long wavy red hair flowed out behind her as she was marched through the room. Even stripped of her guns, armour and pride, she commanded respect. She was a born leader. She came to a stop in front of the judge, whose beady eyes flickered to her scornfully. The judge looked down at the sheet in front of him, obviously his orders, Garrus sneered.

"Commander Shepard. You are being tried on account of war crimes," The judge looked down the end of his nose, looking down at her in the universal symbol of superiority. Shepard bristled unconsciously, "What do you plead?" All eyes were on Shepard. If she pleaded innocent, there would be a lengthy trial with really only one outcome, if she pleaded guilty, the same outcome, only quicker.

All the humans he'd ever seen tried here had pleaded their innocence, desperate to buy themselves some time to struggle futilely with the law. Garrus held his breath as a thick silence settled over the courtroom. Shepard was looking at the floor, her long red hair obscuring the view of anyone in the crowd. A murmur of sympathy passed through some of the humans, which was speedily quenched by embarrassed masters. She lifted her head, and instead of the tears or despair the audience expected to see, a fierce burning grin that Garrus thought suited her much better settled on the judge.

"I'm not about to forsake claims on my battles," she smirked. "I'm guilty of the protection of my race and the deaths of countless enemies. If that results in a sentence, then every turian in attendance is guilty of the same thing."

The courtroom was flabbergasted. A few krogan roared in support and Garrus felt laughter bubble up in his chest. "_She has a flare for the dramatic_," he thought, trying to cease his chuckling. A few seats over, Nihlus _was alternating his glares between Garrus and the rowdy krogan._. _"And she's managed to piss off Nihlus. That's even better."_

The judge was floundering. It was obvious he had never dealt with a human like Commander Shepard. Even more embarrassing was the fact that the General's had forgotten about Shepard's deadliest weapon of all; a sharp wit and even sharper tongue. Shepard sank into one hip, arms crossed in front of her, radiating superiority. The tables had been turned, so now it was the judges turn to squirm uncomfortably.

A rough, gravelly voice travelled out from the seat beside Garrus, "Good to see you've still got quad, Shepard".

Shepard's grin widened and her eyes lost the fierce glare as she whirled around, scanning the crowd. Finally resting on the red-crested krogan, she laughed, "Wrex! Still as ugly as ever I see."

The judge looked as if he was about to have a heart attackNot only had she managed to undermine the government's charges, but was apparently on a first name basis with the most influential krogan in council space. Garrus tried to stifle an amused chuckle. "_This human certain is full of surprises,"_ he thought. He watched as his leaders floundered and, for once, felt no regret at being a bad turian.

The judge cleared his throat, attempting to respectfully draw attention back to the trial and away from the krogan. "Commander Jane Shepard as you have pleaded guilty, your sentence will follow mandates discussed and approved beforehand by a military tribunal." A solemn silence settled over the crowd. This was a moment that would go down in history, and none wanted to miss Shepard's reaction. Garrus bowed his head. "Commander Shepard, you are sentenced to a life of slavery. Matters of ownership and duties required will be decided upon in a private session. A shocked cold silence settled over the room. All eyes were on Shepard.

Garrus was sure that his mind was playing tricks on him, or that he was over tired from the mission and had heard wrong. One frantic glance around the room confirmed his suspicions. He had never considered the possibility of Shepard being sentenced to a life of servitude. His body froze as his mind struggled to catch up. In his head, Garrus had always imagined their battles ending in death for one of them, sentenced to death or killed in the field, he didn't know what to do.

Shepard's mind was running a mile a minute. She had been utterly positive she was going to die today; to be remembered as a strong fearless human who looked death in the face and laughed. Regaining composure, she tilted her head to face the turian generals. Smug, superior, knowing faces stared back at her, sneering in contempt. _"They planned this. They make me a slave and instead of being a beacon of strength, I become an example of weakness."_ There were few sentences worse than death, but having slave smeared across her name, being used as an example of weakness to her people, that was worse. Shepard didn't speak., Instead, Wrex gave a low grumbling snarl as he lumbered to his feet.

"You are pitiful weaklings, you dishonor your enemy by using underhanded tactics, then dishonor them further with this mockery of a sentence. I refuse to take part in his trial any further," he rumbled.

Shepard remained staring straight ahead. Her eyes settled on a turian marking engraved into the silvery metal above the judge's head. Inscribed beneath it, with the little turian Shepard knew, she read 'Honor and Honesty'. She didn't miss the irony.

Wrex lumbered past her, "We'll get you out of this Shepard, until then, keep fighting," he demanded, so quietly even the guards near her couldn't hear. Shepard nodded slightly. At least there was still hope. Somehow, she would escape this mockery of justice, but for now, she would endure.

* * *

As Garrus exited the building, media swarmed him. He could barely breathe with the microphones and camera bots being shoved in his direction. Shepard, as a convicted felon and slave, would be escorted out by armed guards, the media kept far away. He wasn't so lucky. He fought his way through the crowd, ignoring the questions about the human fired in his direction. A sharp, modulated voice of a quarian finally registered.

"Captain Vakarian, you were on the ship when Archangel apprehended Commander Shepard. Is he ashamed of using underhanded tactics to capture her, instead of face to face in battle?

Garrus turned sharply towards the young quarian. Her eyes were narrow slits behind the mask of her envirosuit. He was at the end of his patience and a complete stranger had verbalized the question that had bothered him since Shepard surrendered.

Garrus snarled and jabbed a talon in the reporter's direction, "It wasn't my call, it wasn't my decision.

The quarian laughed, "Records show you were in charge. Shouldn't you have been more aware of the mission?"

Garrus was speechless. This little quarian was arguing with him, and she had one heck of a point. Spirits, he was sure he'd never met her before, yet she spoke as if she'd known all about Shepard and Archangels rivalry, which was impossible. That information was supposedly classified.

The quarian sighed, "Well? Will you answer the question?"

Garrus suddenly felt far too tired to be dealing with nosey reporters. "As you're aware, Spectre Nihlus Kryik joined my crew, as well as Archangel. According to turian, and council law, they made all mission-related decisions, not myself." The reporters all but disappeared, abandoning Garrus in favour of a far meatier story, attempting to track down Nihlus. Garrus sighed in relief, and turned to leave, only to find his way blocked by a strong-willed quarian.

She crossed her arms, and sunk into a hip, before speaking, "Look, if you hurt her in any way, we will kill you. The less you intervene, the easier this will be."

Garrus couldn't quite believe he was being threatened by a woman who was one suit rupture away from serious infection, and that she didn't seem at all fazed. Strangely, she reminded him of a certain red-headed human, but that didn't change the fact that she was threatening him.

Before he could make a cutting reply, she began to speak again, " I'm Tali'Zorah and as much as I hate to ask for help from a bosh'tet like you, you appear to be the only Turian in your whole race who might respect her."

Garrus frowned, "what do you mean?" he Questioned.

If it was possible, Tali managed to look mildly offended through her helmet, "That means I know exactly who you are _Archangel._ I also know you fought to be the one to bring Shepard in." Her eyes flashed behind the mask at his shocked expression. "Your government records all meetings, even ones that happen off record Vakarian. Those record were hacked as soon as the Normandy was boarded. Garrus wasn't quite sure why the quarian was telling him all this, but she continued, "just five minutes ago, I received the highly classified information form a trusted source that they plan to give Shepard to Nihlus... Or you".

Garrus was stunned. Shepard could not, under any circumstances, be given to Nihlus. He'd seen the way his superior had looked at her. Nihlus had no respect for humans. Not to mention the rumors Garrus had heard concerning Nihlus' behavior over the years. Garrus wasn't one to judge a creature before he had had a decent conversation, or fought with them, yet when officers he respected and trusted told him in confidence horrors Nihlus had committed, he was duty bound to be cautious.

The little quarian had him confused. Years of military training had him hoping she was lying. The bad turian in him, told him it made sense. What better way to make an example of the great Commander Shepard than hand her over to one of the turians responsible for her capture? It was pure military genius. Seeing either himself, or Nihlus, on a daily basis would be a harsh reminder of how she failed her people. If Garrus knew anything, he knew Shepard. He had spent two years of his life chasing and collecting data on her, if he'd learned anything in that time, he'd learnt of Shepard's love for her people. She'd acquired too many scars trying to protect her people, when it would have been so much easier to just leave them and escape with her body and mind intact. He'd seen the hurt on her face when she'd failed them. He wouldn't pretend to be good at reading human expressions, but he understood Shepard. She needed to be strong, to be good enough to protect them. How degrading being a slave must be to her, but worse, how guilty she would feel about letting down her people.

Tali gave the turian in front of her enough time to let her words sink in. By the unconscious fluttering of his mandibles, she figured that he'd understood. . As terrified as Tali was to leave her best friend in the care of Archangel, he was a better prospect than the Spectre. Tali growled at the thought of him. Nihlus' behaviors towards humans were vile. His past was littered with human tortures and murders, even rape. Hi s status as a Spectre meant none of the damning information ever made it in front of the turian military, let alone the public. He was a disgusting excuse for a sapient being.

At least Archangel, better known as Vakarian, seemed to have some semblance of respect for her captain. His personal records seemed to show he thought of her as an equal on the battlefield. She just hoped that respect could be grown on. The plans in motion wouldn't work if Shepard was given to Nihlus. "Well?" she asked impatiently. Garrus pinned her with such a predatory gaze, she found herself on edge. Tali knew the anger wasn't directed at her thankfully, but she still shivered under the intensity. Forcing herself to regain her composure, Tali cocked a hip, "Then go convince them."

* * *

Thank you for reading, and please review! Sorry about my haphazard updating, I'm a haphazard sort of person.

Love you all

update: Updated on 26/06/2013 courtesy of my amazing and talented beta, Meggo929. Go send her lots of love, she is a brilliant motivator


	3. Forbidden

Welcome back! Sorry the update is a little later than the other chapters. I have news! Branded now has a beta! She's absolutely wonderful, and my writing flows so much better with her help, I completely adore her and her edits J. Thanks to all of you who reviewed, they help so much with my motivation, and I hope this chapter lives up to all your expectations.

Update! Sorry about the note in brackets left in the middle of the chapter -_- it was a note to me to remind me to add something in! Of course, I only found it again after I'd uploaded the chapter, so here's an update with a little more material for you guys, sorry again for the bout of total unprofessionalism :D

Enjoy the chapter and please leave a review!

* * *

Shepard groaned; another cell. More walls that closed in on her further with every breath she took. At least this time they had supplied her with a bed and a window. The window was too high up for her to reach and was securely locked, but it allowed a tiny sliver of light through. Just enough to illuminate her bleak surroundings. She dropped her head into her hands. Who was she kidding? Jane lay down on her bunk, with her hands in front of her and closed her eyes. Perhaps sleep would allow her jumbled mind to form some sort of excuse of a plan. She couldn't afford to disappear; she had her people to protect. With that thought, exhaustion took over, and Shepard passed out.

_Scarred mandibles fluttered against her shoulder and swept her long flaming hair across her neck. Solid, abrasive plates pressed against her back through her clothes and under her thighs, sending pleasant warm shivers up her spine. Jane closed her eyes in bliss and reached up to his fringe to wrap her hands around the back of his head. His talons rubbed along her thighs as his long, rough tongue licked the side of her neck, following the crease of her jaw line. She moaned and ground her clothed hips into his. He let out a growl that vibrated across her jaw, "Shepard" his hissed, grasping her things tightly. She gasped and arched against him, throwing her head over one shoulder, "Garrus"._

Shepard woke with a jolt, the ghost of her pleasure trailed across her skin, quickly being replaced by a shiver of fear and confusion. Had she just been dreaming about Vakarian? She had seen everything in perfect detail. Every plate from the top of his fringe down to the tantalising long lines from the tips of his alien hips trailing down underneath his tight military slacks. What was she thinking? Shepard scrubbed her temples frantically, which was quite a feat considering her hands were still bound. Why on earth was she seeing him as tantalising? He wasn't even human!

Her tiny cell suddenly felt far too warm and even more claustrophobic than before. She wandered over to the iron door and examined the hinges. There were absolutely no gaps; the whole cell was airtight. Shepard's air suddenly felt a little more precious and it occurred to her she had no idea how long she'd been sleeping, or how much oxygen she had left. Feeling a lot more worried and confused than before her sleep, Shepard huffed in irritation and kicked the door with the sole of her foot. To her surprise and horror, the door swung open to reveal a very confused Captain Garrus Vakarian; his hand poised after just unlocking her cell door. Two bewildered guards stood either side of him, unsure of how to act with their superior's mouth gaping. Shepard stood there awkwardly, her leg still raised from kicking the door. Her dream flashed across her mind and a red blush spread like wild fire across her cheeks. Garrus recovered fastest, and stepped forward. Clearing his throat, he straightened his back and fluttered his mandibles, clearly uncomfortable. "Commander Jane Shepard, the court has decided who your master will be. I am to escort you to the flame tower, where you will be branded, and given to your new master". Despite the hopeless situation, Shepard snickered. Vakarian looked so uncomfortable talking to her without guns blazing or his visor glinting dangerously from shadows. He squirmed at being so exposed, with no cloak of shadows to protect him. It was absolutely endearing.

Shepard was carted into the private shuttle like cattle. The Guards were rough, and didn't care to mind her bound hands as they forced her into the uncomfortable turian-designed seat. After glaring daggers at the guards, Shepard sat up straight and stared pointedly out of the window, making sure not to even glance at Vakarian. She completely refused to think about last night's dream. Trying to distract herself from the turian sitting not two meters away from her, Shepard concentrated on where they were going.

Garrus shifted uneasily in his seat. Shepard looked downright disgusted at his race, and he couldn't help but hate the way the guards had treated her. He couldn't do anything about their harsh treatment until she was legally his, unless he wanted to be arrested, so he had to wait until after the branding. Yet no matter how hard he clenched his teeth and tried to concentrate on other things, he couldn't help the soft growl that escaped him. The guards had only glanced at him disinterestedly, before continuing to push and shove Shepard towards the shuttle. Garrus tried to ignore them. He could see the ominous, dark silhouette of the Flame tower outlined against Palaven's sun, a constant reminder of where they were headed. There were many myths and rumors about the branding process, and even more about the aptly named Flame Tower. The turian government liked to advertise it as a pain-free, economical way of marking the humans. As turians had almost no feeling in the tough, leathery plates covering most of their body, it wasn't too hard for the average turian to believe. Garrus Vakarian wasn't your average everyday turian, and he had studied human physiology extensively so he understood the level of pain this process would inflict on the human. It was barbaric. He didn't care what the government said about how much worse the humans would treat them. It was plain wrong. It was wrong to mark another sapient being like livestock and call them a possession; call them your own.

* * *

Garrus sat uncomfortably in the plush waiting room to the branding tower. The floor was covered in a soft downy carpet which squished between the toes of his boots awkwardly, and the baby blue walls designed to be calming and relaxing just made him feel closed in. A female turian receptionist sat filing the sharp edges of the plates on her hands, as was fashionable at the moment. She kept fluttering her peach mandibles at him suggestively, and dropped things so she could bend over to display her slender waist and softly curved cowl. All in all, this turian was an amazing catch, utterly perfect and slender, but Garrus barely noticed her.

He was too busy flexing his claws into the hard plates of his thighs to notice her advances. He never wanted this. All this cheapened Shepard somehow. His claws slid over a smooth, shiny scar stretching diagonally from the right side of his left knee to the top of his hip, a memento of one of his battles with Shepard. She'd managed to blow his cover, and had grazed his thigh with a shot from her assault rifle. Although she'd managed that hit, he retaliated with a well-timed shot to a fuel tank behind her, almost certainly burning most of her back and legs. These scars were acceptable. They were feats of strength and prowess, marks of weakness and power at the same time. Garrus let his head fall into his hands. This mark would not show the ability to adapt, to recover from a dangerous mission. There would be no honour, no partner brand on the other. It would shame and dishonor her, and for that, Garrus snarled.

* * *

Shepard knew about the branding. She'd memorised every single one of the shapes and patterns forced upon her people to the smallest dot. She knew all the meanings, all the degrees of shame. The design of the brand burned on their skin depended on the job or purpose the human would serve. These brands varied from the simple black-outlined empty circle stamped on the back of the neck to show a government owned working slave to the complex, almost tattoo like designs for individual owners to request for their properties. There was no doubt in Jane's mind, as her exposed form was strapped down to the cold, hard concrete table, that she would be imprinted with the most degrading brand possible. They had stripped her of her alliance uniform, and she was dressed only in her sports bra and a pair of form-hugging shorts to give the turian more space to work.

To keep her mind off the impending process, Shepard began dryly trying to think of the worst brand possible. There was the classic toilet-cleaning brand; three wavy lines slanting diagonally. However, she wouldn't put it past them to think of something more awful. Shepard jumped as a rough, abrasive cloth was yanked over her eyes. She swallowed on reflex. Great. She couldn't even mentally prepare herself now. They really hated her didn't they? They wouldn't even let her watch.

Worse than the design were the possible locations for the brand. A small, selfish part of her silently begged that they wouldn't burn her face. She wouldn't be able to bear having to look at it every time she passed a reflective surface. The heat from the furnace could be felt from Shepard's position, and she could hear the rhythmic, metallic clanging of the instrument to be used for her branding in time with her heartbeat. It was quick, like the frantic pounding of a trapped animal. A prickle of fear ran up her spine. Shepard wasn't used to this. She wasn't given time to think about being wounded in a battle, it just happened. She was given the chance to dodge the injury. She had the freedom to move if she got hit, it was her own fault for not moving out of the way fast enough. But this, forced, impending knowledge of what was coming, was far more terrifying than any battle wound she'd ever received.

The clanging stopped, but Shepard's heartbeat continued; pounding in her ears and making her palms hot and sweaty. All her senses were painfully heightened. The sound of the turian's approaching footsteps too loud. She clenched and unclenched her fists repeatedly, the hot air too dry on her body. Sweat rolled down her form, sending Goosebumps and shivers across her skin. She flinched as the turian yanked her head to the side, exposing her neck and right shoulder horribly. Shepard's breath came in ragged bursts through her clenched teeth, every second feeling ten times as long and her skin tingled like she had pins and needles. She could feel the blistering heat radiating off the tool. Shepard felt the turian line up the instrument before slamming it down on her neck and shoulder.

* * *

Garrus flinched as a sharp cry of pain cut through the air of the building like a razor. It was Shepard, he knew that much. It was cut off just as fast. He could almost picture her biting down on her lip viciously to stop the noise. She'd never cried out like that in any of their previous battles. He snarled; his suspicions about branding were confirmed. For Shepard to yelp like that, the branding must have hurt more than he'd thought. Garrus wanted to hit something. "_Stupid turian military. Stupid slave system. Stupid, stupid Garrus_." He gripped his thighs tightly, his broken mandible began to throb steadily and painfully, as if to try to match Shepard's hurt.

Garrus heard two sets of footsteps approach the steel doors separating the waiting room from the rest of the tower. One set was firm and purposeful, whereas the other was stumbling and broken, as if they were being dragged along or extremely drunk. He stood up, prepared for the worst. An image of a battered and bloody Shepard flashed across his mind, but he quickly disregarded it. Shepard was his property now; the military wouldn't dare harm her in any other way than the branding. Even so, Garrus' fists tightened subconsciously, sharp talons digging into the slightly softer than usual plates on his palms, twin tiny beads of teal blood blossoming on his palms. The doors swished open.

Garrus' stride faltered, and his mandibles went slack in confusion. Shepard strode purposefully through the doors, her long flaming hair flowing out behind her, with a puzzling reddness on her forehead. The brander stumbled out behind her, his pupils large and dazed. Shepard held a wet rag against one side of her neck, as she skilfully controlled the turian's drunken stumbling behind her. Garrus chuckled admiringly to himself. He'd gone and done the very thing he'd told the generals not to do less than a week ago; underestimate her. At least he'd corrected himself, his mandibles flared in a very turian grin. The brander stumbled into one of the cushioned seats lining the room, before shooting Garrus a pleading look. He flared his mandibles at him territorially in reply. Branders were pitiful excuses for sapient beings.

Garrus turned his attention back to Shepard. His glee at her defiance had temporarily numbed the dull stinging from his palms. He quickly became conscious of the sticky wetness of his blood trailing steadily down his fingers. He squeezed his talons into fists, trying not to drip blood into the clingy carpet, and more pressingly, not to show weakness in front of that human. Shepard snarled at the collapsed turian before walking confidently towards Garrus. Despite the wet rag pressed against her one side of her neck and shoulder, she still managed to look confident and dangerous at the same time. The predatory combination that made Garrus' instincts roar at her stance.

Her burn stung like a bitch, shooting tendrils of hurt that cut into her every time she moved her right arm or neck. Shepard could feel a migraine coming on. She had head-butted krogans with softer skulls than that blasted turian. She had panicked, and resorted to instinct as the branding iron caused her flesh to burn. Shepard was relived the turian had been so disorientated after the unexpected head-butt by a creature without any plating, it was unable to prevent her from shimmying out of her bonds. She ripped off the blindfold and reclaimed her under-suit before he could move. Even without her high-tech armour on top of her suit she felt more at ease as soon as she was covered She was a little peeved that she had been so distracted, she hadn't had the chance to look at her brand. The first time the thought crossed her mind was when the brander pressed a mercifully cold, wet rag to her burn. Just the thought of removing it made her wound throb, she could wait until later to see the newest mark on her body. There were more pressing matters that required her attention.

"Archangel, care to tell me what's going to happen now?" Shepard walked up to him, her hips sashaying unconsciously. Garrus bit down his predatory instincts and forced himself to relax. He sunk into a hip and crossed his arms, looking at her from the corner of his eyes, "now we go find your new master".

* * *

The shuttle navigated through the streets of Cipritine in a swarm of countless others. Even through the specially designed window, Palaven's blistering was almost too much for her to bear. The injections they had administered were designed to protect major organs, so her skin and eyes were rather vulnerable to Palaven's environment. If she wanted to stay outside for extended periods of time, she would have to wear an envirosuit. Inside buildings, she found the radiation levels to be tolerable, but exposure to Palaven's sun was more than uncomfortable, and she could feel her skin blistering slightly. The temperature wasn't too different from earth, but everything as far as the eye could see shone dull silver.

The buildings were tall grey spears defiantly reaching skyward, launching the eye into the cerulean blue above. The spaces in between structures glinted like rivers of molten steel. Cipritine was a metropolis of military construction and design. It was a little daunting and disheartening to Shepard to see such military prowess in Palaven's capital. She couldn't help but be glad that her people hadn't known about their technology and weaponry before the first contact war, or they would've given up hope before the war even started.

Just thinking about the beginning of the first contact war made Shepard furious. The turian's hadn't just defeated the Alliance; they had completely crushed them. They left no possibility, or hope, of reconstructing anything like a military to protect earth. When it became obvious that the turians would be victorious, the Alliance had put all efforts into holding the turian military off long enough to evacuate as many people as they possibly could. Military officers assigned to the ships to provided as much protection as possible. Their only goal had been survival. That wasn't the worst part though. The turian hierarchy had managed to convince the Asari and Salarians that the humans were too dangerous and unpredictable to be allowed free range to the galaxy, and that by keeping them on a leash they were protecting the other sapient races. This was all caused by one turian with too much power and too large a grudge against humans.

Saren Arterius; a vile, hateful Turian who had recently been promoted to primarch. He was a turian war hero, recommended by many for his 'impeccable reputation for getting the job done'. Translated from bullshit into English; it meant his ruthless code of annihilating anything remotely standing the way of his missions, even if those people were innocents. He had even been nominated to be a spectre, but had turned down the offer due to the fast approaching war. Saren had been the human's worst nightmare when he turned up on Shanxi. He, and his team, murdered the admiral in the region, Kastane Drescher, in front of civilian eyes before destroying the entire Alliance fleet designed for civilian defences. Even before he was promoted to Primarch, Saren was one of the highest ranking officers in the turian hierarchy, and the government .never questioned his report on the human race.

Shepard gripped the side of her seat tightly. There was no doubt at all in her mind that if Saren hadn't been the officer to file the report on the humans, the assessor would've recognised the intelligence and resourcefulness of her race. But it had been Saren, and the gullible fools back on Palaven swallowed his words like children. They took his advice and danced like puppets on his strings, proclaiming that humans were too dangerous and unpredictable to be allowed free range of the galaxy, and to protect the other races they needed to be kept submissive. Idiots.

Shepard forced herself to relax. There was no point in getting worked up about something she couldn't control. She sent a fleeting glance around the shuttle. Vakarian was tinkering with some sort of machinery on his lap, and the guard was seated behind her, clutching his pistol shakily. Shepard smirked. At least she still had her reputation to work with. She raised her arms to stretch, and in her peripheral vision saw the guard tense. _That should be put on a list of her life achievements,"_ she thought, _"makes turians flinch_." She sighed and turned her attention back to the terrain outside her window. The metal buildings had become sparser, and although the road below still shone silver, and there were strange large, leafy plants dotted alongside it, sandy soil visible beneath them. Her brand felt raw against the damp cloth. She rolled her shoulder gingerly, and winced when her wound's frazzled nerves sent panicked signals of pain through her system. "_Definitely not removing the cloth just yet_." she mused. Shepard turned her attention back to outside, and the scene outside made her eyes widen and jaw drop.

The shuttle glided through the gates of a sleek, modern mansion with at least one hundred acres of land attached. A soft huff from the other side of the shuttle drew her attention. Garrus was staring out of the window with such a look of sad resignation that Shepard's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. _Where on Palaven could they be that would make Archangel show pain?_ Even if it wasn't conscious, this was the first time Shepard had seen emotions play so strongly across his features. She was so puzzled by his reaction, she didn't notice the shuttle touch down onto the smooth drive, or that he had risen to his feet. Only when he sent her a questioning look did she remember where she was. She forced down a blush, chastising herself silently, his actions seemed so different from the Archangel she had spent years studying, Shepard couldn't help but try to figure him out. She refused to acknowledge that it might be because of last night's dream. The dream had been ignored for most of the day, and Shepard intended to keep it that way.

Garrus extended a taloned hand to still-seated woman."We're here. Welcome to your new home", he said resignedly. Shepard ignored him and stood without his assistance. They'd been kind enough not to bind her hands after the branding. _"There's no point really,"_ she supposed. _"I'm marked as the property of another with no escape unless someone smuggles me out of here. No real need for restraints."_. She stepped out into the direct sunlight, wincing slightly at the radiation levels. Even squinted eyes couldn't dull the impressiveness of the building. _"Whoever I've been given to sure likes military architecture."_ The whole building was made up of sharp angles and razorblade edges. Even the door was triangular, and it reminded her slightly of teeth. It looked modern, dangerous and incredibly intimidating. Shepard turned back to look at the gate - noting not only the huge space between them and the structure, but also the almost barren feel to it. There were short plants and flowers decorating the circular garden in the centre of the drive. Trees and larger plant ran along the edges of the estate, but for some reason the space felt dead. A lookout tower was stationed beside the gate, Iron bars ran across the top of the high wall enclosing the land. There was technology disguised among the plants; sprinklers and other boxes protruded unnaturally from the ground. There were, undoubtedly, weapons concealed as well.

The trio set out across the empty drive towards the cold silver doors. Shepard started as a taloned hand innocently guided her towards the shaded area of the overhang. She turned her attention to him again, forest green eyes focused on his intently. Shepard was finding it increasingly difficult to dislike him when he kept being to attentive to her needs. _"Does he think I'm weak without my armour? Delicate now that I've been captured?"_ A prickle of anger and disgust at herself ran through her at the thought. "_Even Archangel thinks I'm incompetent now"._

The thought irritated her more than she liked and she defiantly avoided the shaded overhang he guided her towards and walked in the sunlight. Garrus gave her puzzled look, but didn't question it. They got to the triangular door, and the guard muttered quietly into his radio. The doors hissed open, and a young female Turian servant rushed out, immediately heading to Garrus' side. As soon as the servant appeared Shepard felt a tingle of foreboding run up her body. Where was her 'master'? Why wasn't he here to greet her? Shepard felt like her whole body had been plunged into icy cold water as she watched the servant bow her head respectively to Archangel and take his coat, being careful to fold his garment neatly. Shepard froze in shock as the puzzle pieces fell into place. The female servant bowed her head again to Captain Vakarian, trying her best to be polite,

"Welcome home Master Vakarian".

* * *

Sorry about the edits, Please leave a review!


	4. Respect

Welcome back!

I just wanted to say thanks to my AMAZING beta, Meggo929, She is amazing and deserves lots of love for her work on this chapter, it wouldn't be the same without her :) and she is soooo good at motivating me and giving me ideas!

Please enjoy the story and leave a review.

* * *

Shepard's throat felt dry and raspy as she struggled to get her head around her latest mind blowing discovery. Garrus stared at her expectantly, but all she felt was confused. She gave herself a mental kick. "_Now is not the time to gape like a goldfish"._ Strangely, she felt a little betrayed by his secrecy. She internally laughed at herself. Somehow, she had accidentally let herself think of Archangel as a decent turian. The only decent turian she'd ever met. Of course not; _"Stupid Shepard_" she thought bitterly. _We're enemies. We're meant to hate each other, not be kind, considerate and help the enemy when they're worried about their crew. He pities you." _Shepard's expression hardened. She wouldn't let herself make the same mistake twice.

Garrus watched as Sheppard's expression went from shocked to cold in a millisecond. He panicked. "_This wasn't meant to happen_," he thought. Truth be told, he hadn't really thought it through. He didn't know how to tell her when she'd come out of the flame tower. He tried to put it off as long as he could, but he'd put it off too long, and he could tell she was furious. It suddenly occurred to him that he _didn't _know her. All he knew was what battlefield interactions and records on her told him. He knew her height, weight and battle strategies like the back of his hand, but if anyone asked him her favourite colour, or her favourite sound, he wouldn't have a clue. Garrus wasn't very good at emotions, especially human emotions, and he had no idea what conclusion Shepard had come to. At a loss for what to do, he decided to let her cool off. "I'll give you a tour of the house, Dad really knows how to make the place seem welcoming". He thanked the guard and servant, and strolled into the gaping mouth of the building.

As soon as they entered, Shepard noticed the temperature difference. The air felt cooler and fresher than the humid heat outside, and she barely felt any radiation discomfort at all. They had stepped into a large room sparsely furnished with expensive looking turian chairs and the odd table. The silver trend carried through the room, down to the last stool. The edges of the room and ceiling were sharp and spiky, following the architecture of outside. It all looked very modern and expensive. Shepard was shocked. She'd known the Vakarian's were rich, but this was totally unprecedented. This room alone would've most likely cost more than her yearly salary before the war began. Captain Vakarian made his way towards a door that led deeper into the monstrous building. Shepard absent-mindedly rearranged her semi-dry rag. It kept slipping down due to Palaven's arid heat, and was beginning to get on her nerves. It was definitely coming off soon, luckily the unbearable shooting pain had diminished to a dull, burning throb which was much easier to deal with.

Garrus opened the door and held it open for Shepard. Still vaguely annoyed at him for no good reason, she stalked through with her head held high. He nodded to her as she passed through, "Commander", he said, with what she assumed, was respect. She smiled inwardly; at least he hadn't started to treat her like a slave yet.

* * *

The mansion was even larger than expected and Shepard was growing tired. Between having her crew and civilians threatened, the mockery of a trial, and being branded, all with little food or sleep, Shepard was utterly exhausted. They were finally back in the entrance hall, and Captain Vakarian had gone to get them both drinks. Shepard had spent most of the tour preparing herself to remove the rag from her neck. Now that she could, a cold sense of foreboding washed over her. Telling herself to stop being such a pussy, she whipped the now dry cloth away.

Shepard's eyes trailed numbly over the design, taking in the detailed swirling pattern of the flowers and swirls, coupled with the dots and dashes. It was a complex and large brand, spreading deftly over the top of her right shoulder and up her neck. A cold, hard fury spread up her body. "_How dare they?" _She stared at her burn, feeling her anger accelerate steadily with every second, "_How dare he?"_ Her breathing became harsh. She didn't even want to look at him. Her thought process was irrational, exhaustion gone, replaced with all-encompassing anger. All she knew was she needed to kill something.

Garrus knew something was wrong as soon as he walked in to an empty room. The only remainder of the commander was a white rag discarded carelessly on the floor. A quick glance confirmed it as the one she'd been holding to her brand. Garrus' mandibles flickered, and he didn't even break stride as he headed towards the only place she'd be, praying he wouldn't just make things worse.

The training room sparked with biotic energy. The air was filled with the sound of harsh panting punctuated with grunting and the sound of a punch-bag being hit repeatedly. Shepard's every punch was fuelled by her burning anger. The vigorous exercise had her muscles crying out in protest at their lack of oxygen and her skin shone with a light sheen of sweat. Her top, socks and shoes lay haphazardly discarded halfway between the door and the punch bag, and she had stripped down to only her sports bra and the shorts she wore underneath her armour.

Garrus stood in the doorway for a few moments, taking in her angry green eyes and messy hair. He noticed a faint shine in her eyes that he hadn't seen before, and the way her fiery hair swished back and forth with each hit. He was certain she hadn't noticed him yet. There was no way she'd let her expression show so much pain and anger if she knew he was watching her; she was close to sobbing, and he was bewildered at what had upset her so much. He wanted to say something, but couldn't think of anything to say that would help.

He'd only ever seen her like this when he'd shot someone she'd been trying to protect, and she hadn't calmed down until after sating her anger and desire for revenge. Garrus observed her with calm, resigned eyes. Shepard only needed one thing, to get all this out of her system, and a punching bag wasn't going to be good enough. He could help her; she needed to fight someone.

He stepped into the room, trying to catch her attention. As soon as she'd spotted him she stopped her attack on the punching bag and whirled around to face him. Garrus was shocked at the sheer force of her fury. "_No",_ he thought, "_I've never seen her like this"._ This fury was all encompassing; it was a desperate, selfish fury which didn't suit her in the slightest. She was no longer a delicate, soft human. She was a dangerous, angry predator with her sights locked on him.

"Come to gloat?" she spat, her fists sparking dangerously.

"_Gloat? What on Palaven was she talking about?"_ His confusion only seemed to anger her further. Still glaring at him, she yanked down the right strap of her sports bra, baring the whole of her red, swollen brand to him. As his eyes trailed over the marks, an unwelcome realisation dawned upon him. She had been branded as something so degrading, he hadn't even considered it. Garrus felt a snarl resonate from his throat, which echoed around the room to form a dull throbbing. Anger washed over him in waves. His leaders had crossed another unspoken line. They'd dared to mark her as a concubine.*

Garrus had never truly despised his leaders. Spirits, there had always been a tactical angle they'd exploited which he could understand and vaguely appreciate, but never before had they just done something for the sake of degrading someone. Never before today, anyway. As hard as he tried to pin this act with a tactical, understandable reason, there were none he could come to. His government had done this to her purely for the vindictive pleasure that came from her suffering, to make an example of her to her people, to use her. It was disgusting.

Garrus flexed his talons, and let his body fall into the natural predatory stance that came to him as instinct. He stalked up to within two meters her, dropped his haunches and bared his teeth. Shepard didn't need to be asked twice. She sprinted across the gap between them, her fists glowing unearthly blue with biotic energy. She swung a punch, and he dodged; swiping at her open legs with his talons. She sprung back, and his talons missed her skin by inches. His instincts were no longer even registering her as a human. All Garrus saw was predator, and it was steadily becoming increasingly difficult for him to stop himself from treating her like a turian. He knew she was too delicate without armour, but when she lunged for his unprotected neck with her palm, he barely controlled his reactions. He snarled fearsomely and swiped at her chest.

Shepard barely had enough time to dodge his onslaught. Every hit she landed to his plates hardly fazed him, but she had to be extremely careful to miss every attack he threw. He was unimaginably powerful, and his reach was almost impossible to manage. Yet, she had the advantage of speed and flexibility. Without her armour, she was incredibly fast. Shepard had had spent countless hours honing both skills so she could match, and overcome, that of the fastest turian. Without her armour's restrictive metal plates and hinges, she could use her flexibility to its full extent. She dodged and twisted in way he had never seen to avoid his lunges. Not to mention the damage her deadly biotics could do if he'd just stay still for half a second! Shepard assessed her adversary's power.

Garrus was rather well equipped. His razor sharp talons and hard plates gave Shepard little space to inflict damage, and he wasn't exactly slow either. They spun around each other in a deadly dance of claws and biotics. One would almost hurt the other, but just miss due to a burst of biotic energy or precise swipe of talons. They were too evenly matched, and both were beginning to tire. Shepard knew she wouldn't be able to keep up this level of speed and precision for as long as Garrus could. She needed to finish this before her exhaustion and lack of sleep overcame the influence of her anger and adrenaline.

Garrus could barely control himself anymore. The sensible, rational part of his brain screamed at him to stop the fight before he hurt her but His anger at his leaders, his instincts and his need to fight combined to make a disastrously irresistible mixture that spread tingles from the pads of his feet to the tips of his fringe. Garrus' instincts crowed in delight as Shepard landed awkwardly on one leg after a particularly close swipe.

In her stumbling, Shepard didn't notice a particularly accurate cut of Garrus' talons at her unprotected legs until the last second, and he managed to inflict shallow scratches across her thighs. Shepard cursed and her stupidity, and her second of hesitation was all Garrus needed. His instincts acted before he had the chance to stop them. All he could see was the brand; what it represented and the blemish it made on Shepard's delicate skin. All he recognised was the shame and humiliation it inflicted upon her. A mingling sense of despair joined his anger.

"_How could they?"_

_"How dare they?"_

Shepard was his. His to protect. His to help. His to heal. And he'd failed her without knowing it. Through the red haze of hatred that clouded his gaze, he swiped at the hated brand. His claws cut through her skin so cleanly that it almost seemed as if it had parted by itself. Startling, Vivid crimson streamed across her skin, stemming from the twin gashes, the vibrant colour shocking against the paleness of her skin. Shepard swayed and collapsed. Garrus felt cold, real fear wash over him.

He dropped to his knees, cursing himself and pleading to the spirits and human gods alike that she would be alright. She was out cold. _Please_, he begged silently,_ please_. He was terrified that he'd cut her so deeply that he'd severed her jugular. He ripped off his uniform shirt and pressed it to the wound, applying enough pressure to stop the bleeding. Shepard exhaled a soft groan, and she squeezed her eyes together before slowly opening and blinking her dilated eyes rapidly. Garrus watched her face anxiously, scared that he had finally seriously injured her and she wouldn't recover.

Shepard propped herself up on an elbow, and half-consciously raised a hand to grasp the shirt to her wound. Leaning back on his heels, Garrus peered at her nervously. Shepard's eyebrows crumpled into a frown, and opened her mouth. Garrus prepared for the worst.

"You could've fetched me a medigel at least", she grumbled.

He blanched at his stupidity before scrambling to his feet sprinting over to the first aid station at the other side of the room, before loping back. He ripped open the medigel packet as he returned and carefully pulled back the arm she was using to press his shirt to the burn. Ignoring her protests Garrus carefully spread the cooling gel over her wounded shoulder. He hated the way that her blood mixed with the liquid, and was secretly glad when she pressed his shirt back onto her cuts.

Shepard hated the way Garrus looked at her. It was as if he thought of her as a china doll, something so weak and pathetic that they were incapable of looking after themselves. She adored the attention, but loathed how they got in this situation. She watched Garrus finish smearing the healing fluid across her skin, before he let his head drop into his hands. Her anger had evaporated with the battle, and all that was left was a rapidly growing sense of irritation at his fussing and a tingling curiosity for both his clearly torn feelings and newly exposed chest. Her anger evaporated with the battle, leaving a rapidly growing sense of exhaustion and irritatingly enough, respect for the turian beside her.

She let her eyes trail over the symmetrical pattern his plates formed. His hard cowl swooped gracefully over the back of his head, and Shepard was fascinated by the little plates and ridges that lead up his neck and down his slender waist. The memory of her dream swept over her, and she forced herself to think of other things. Now was definitely not the time to fantasize about her captor. She winced as she tried to shuffle into a more comfortable position. Garrus' head snapped up, and he reached forward with the intention of helping her, but it was obvious that he was uncertain on how to help her. Emerald eyes burned as Shepard shoved Garrus' extended hand away, and forced her injured body to its feet.

"Why is it that every time you want something to do with me it's because you feel pity for me?" She gestured towards her neck. "Ever since I was captured you've looked at me like my species was as delicate as a feather! I don't care what you think, but I thought you would respect me enough as a soldier not to pity me!"

Garrus stared at her, frozen with the shock of her accusation. He had never ever, not once, felt pity for Shepard. Not even when she'd been captured unfairly. Not even when she'd had the mark of a Concubine permanently burned into her skin against her will. Especially not because she was human.

"Is that what you think?" he asked softly, "that I don't respect you?" Garrus rose to his feet, towering a good few inches above Shepard, forcing her to look up to hold eye contact. His features were drawn up into a snarl, and for the first time, Shepard felt a twinge of fear for the furious, dangerous predator glaring down at her.

"Your species is as delicate as a feather, Shepard! A single swipe of my talons could get you a one way ticket to non-existence!" Garrus grabbed Shepard's arm. "Look what happened when I tried to help you relax! I ended up hurting you further! This all happened because I thought of you as a turian and you ask me why I try so hard around you? Of course I respect you!" Garrus snarled and turned away, trying to keep his emotions under control. This was not how good turians acted. Taking a deep breath, Garrus turned back to face her, regretting his harsh words already.

Stunned, Shepard stared up at Archangel with wide eyes. _"He doesn't pity me?"_ She pondered silently, _"Does that mean that he still thinks of me as an equal?"_ She could see Garrus still searching her face for a sign of her disbelief or anger at his statement. Shepard sighed and forced her body to relax, then placed a hand on his forearm. She applied gentle pressure, hoping the squeeze would convey what she couldn't yet in words.

A calm silence settled over the room. Garrus was exhausted by both the fight and the emotional turmoil this one little human kept putting him through. He closed his eyes, feeling his body relax only as it could after sparring with the right partner.

"Why did you look so sad when we got here?" Shepard's innocent question pulled him from the calm he had just found. Garrus didn't answer at first. Worried that she'd breached the delicate truce their confessions had forged between them, Shepard prepared to apologise for intruding.

"My father and I don't exactly have the conventional father-son relationship. He was distant when I was growing up, and my mother died when I was very young." Garrus paused, then continued, lost in his own thoughts, "I've always felt like a stranger here, standing in my father's shadow. Even this building is like a physical reminder of the fact that I don't belong here". Twisting his hands uncomfortably, Garrus peered down at her. His piercing blue eyes held an emotion that Shepard couldn't quite place. "He always wanted a perfect son; a good turian. Instead he got me, an idiot who can barely control my instincts when fighting a human!"

Shepard sighed and sat back down. She lay back on the mats, wincing as the brand against her neck pulled. She pillowed her head with her hands and pondered Garrus' words. _"It's strange how similar our two species really are", _She pondered over Garrus' words.

"I've never met your father", she began, "And at the moment I'm under the impression that every turian apart from you is a total asshole. But it happens on earth too. I won't pretend to understand, we're two completely different species, but usually with humans you have to get to know each other better," Shepard grimaced, "that sounded a lot less cheesy in my head", she muttered.

Removing Garrus' now ruined uniform shirt, Shepard peered down at her newest injury. The medigel had stopped the bleeding, and it had started to scab over slightly, but it was only partly through the healing process. She would need to leave it overnight to heal completely_. "It is a little peculiar that he swiped for that particular spot, especially since he was the dick who requested the brand in the first place."_

Shepard started slightly as Garrus placed his hand over hers to move her hand so he could get a better look at the wound. The rough, abrasive plates felt warm and pleasant against Shepard's skin, and she was suddenly flushed with a large sense of déjà vu. She quickly moved her hand away. Thankfully, Garrus didn't seem to notice. She didn't even want to know what he would think of her if he knew she had dreamed of him. _"I'm Commander Shepard for god's sake! I make turians flinch! I am not a hormonal teenager with a crush. Get a hold of yourself,_" she chastised.

Mandibles flicked tensely, as Garrus assessed her wound, "I'm sorry", he began, his words rushed, "I just can't believe they did this to you. It's disgusting, and I'm ashamed of it", he admitted.

Shepard's mind whirled like a well-oiled machine. "_So it wasn't Garrus who requested the brand? Was that why he cut her there when we were fighting?_ "Why did you aim for the brand? Apart from the obvious weakness it poses for me, it a bit of a coincidence that that the one place you really swipe for", she questioned.

Garrus began to fidget awkwardly in his seat, flickering his mandibles uncomfortably, "Uh, I hate what it represents. You gave yourself up to protect the civilians, and we disgrace you by marking you permanently as the lowest of the low. It disgusts me. I despise my government for it. I don't know why I keep thinking of you as a turian, but I clearly need to stop". Garrus hadn't been able to look at the redheaded female during his confession, but when she failed to give him an answer, he looked up to see her reaction.

Shepard was grinning. The grin that was pure fight; pure her. She wiped the rest of the medigel off her brand, effectively halting the healing process.

Garrus was horrified, "Spirits! What are you doing? It won't heal properly, you'll scar!" Smirking fiercely, Shepard cleaned that last of the medigel out of her wound, "This is something I can work with, This will mark me as a survivor. I'd much rather this brand represented resistance than submission."

Stunned, Garrus stared at the ruined brand. Even when it fully healed, there would be two shiny scars running through the delicate pattern, permanently distorting it. He huffed out a breath, "You never stop, do you Shepard?"

"Why should I?" she demanded. "You're species may have captured me, but that doesn't mean I have to accept it willingly."

He stood and slowly offered a hand to her. "We don't have to hate each other you know. I'll have you know, Archangel did respect Commander Shepard, even if he didn't always agree with her."

This time, Shepard acknowledged the help for what it was, a peace offering. "I believe the Commander felt the same."

* * *

The Normandy drifted silently through space. She seemed almost empty without her heart. The civilians were silent and mournful; it was almost as I they had accepted their fate already. Ashley hated it. As soon as they had got further enough away from that cursed fuel depot to make sure the turians couldn't follow them, Ashley had sent out an emergency message to all Shepard's contacts. The response they had received was tremendous. Almost everyone who had contacted for help had replied with a burning determination to rescue the commander. One such contact, had been in the region of space the Normandy had fled to, and had wasted no time at all cancelling plans and business meetings, arranging to get to the _Normandy_ as rapidly as possible.

Ashley saw the darkness to her right stir slightly, and felt a familiar velvet-soft voice drift towards her. The movement sent cold shivers of fear down her spine. No matter how many times she heard him, he still managed to unnerve her. He was a born killer, and he scared the living shit out of her.

"I have located the Commander. I shall travel immediately to where she is being held prisoner, if she hasn't escaped already. I wouldn't put that past my siha".

* * *

I will be ashamed of you as Mass Effect fans if you dont know who that was! This chapter was much harder to write than the other Chapters, the interaction between Garrus and Shepard was difficult to balance, but I endured! :)

Please leave a reveiw, it always makes my day, an I love hearing from you all.

*Concubine: A sort of slave wife, originally from the Ancient Greeks, but my beta and I thought this was perfect :)

Love you all


	5. Crying

Hello! Im sorry for not uploading until now, and I bring even more bad news :(.

Branded is going on hiatus until September.

I'M SO SORRY! I wish I could keep uploading chapters every week, but with the holidays comes my summer job, and my family basically moves to our summer house, WHERE THERE IS NOT INTERNET. whyyyyy. This also means my allotted writing period has dissipated :'(.

The good news is that is does give me some time to catch up with chapters, because I'm halfway through the next chapter, which is wayyy too close to this one for comfort! I like to be a good few chapters ahead to be comfortable! I promise to keep writing. I will finish this fic!

Motivating comments are appreciated, and me and my beta worked really hard on this chapter to make it a good one :L If i get the chance, I'll upload the next chapter during the summer.

I love you guys, and hope you keep faith in me!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Shepard hated turian shuttles. They were too hard, and the seats had been made with rough turian behinds in mind, not soft, cushy human ones, _"Hell, they wouldn't be so bad with a cushion. What I would give for a cushion right now,"_ she thought wryly. Shepard shifted around in her seat uncomfortably. The fact that she hadn't slept properly since she'd arrived on this sun-baked planet didn't help at all, and her patience was running thin.

Earlier that morning, Garrus had received a message summoning them to a meeting with the hierarchy, called by Primarch Arterius himself. It had been a week since Shepard had arrived on Palaven, and she wasn't surprised that they wanted a report on their favorite human in existence. She highly doubted they had been informed of the 'alterations' Garrus had made on her brand, and could barely wait to see the looks on their faces when they realized how badly their plans had backfired. It was hilarious really. The almost totally scarred-over wound was obviously caused by a Turian. The width and distance between the gashes would be as recognizable to a Turian as a hand print would be to a human.

The past week had been enlightening for Shepard, to say the least. The tentative truce formed after their sparring led to grudging respect and had slowly developed into the beginning of a friendship. Even though neither had said it aloud, the two battle-hardened soldiers' alliance was obvious.

Shepard smiled to herself at irony of considering a turian a friend. _"Could be worse," _she mused. _"Vakarian's not terrible to live with. Could've wound up with the one in the green armour. Or Saren. Who knows what they would've expected, especially with this brand." _Shuddering in disgust, Shepard turned her attention to Garrus. He had been distracted all morning, staring out into space for minutes on end. It was totally unlike him. The Archangel she was used to was alert and sharp, not lost in musings. It was rather disconcerting to see him like this. The only conclusion that she could come to was that he was pondering on the impending meeting.

Shepard was aware that this meeting wasn't going to be fun. The hierarchy wasn't going to be happy about her brand and she hoped they didn't ask to see it. The thin strapped vest top had been designed to display a slave's tattoo. She had purposely left her long hair down, effectively hiding the marks unless she decided to display them. Until then, no one would suspect a thing. The brand itself no longer caused so much hatred inside her. Garrus had dissipated most of it with a mere sweep of his talons. Shepard wasn't saying she had enjoyed it; the deep cuts had stung like a bitch when they had been inflicted, but she was grateful that it's meaning, at least in her eyes, had changed completely. She almost felt like rubbing it in the Turian bastard's faces, not covering it up! The brand itself had almost fully healed. The medigel applied to help her gashes turned out to help her burn too. It had deflated from being a swollen, red-raw wound, now the blistering was almost non-existent. Shepard swept her hair over her shoulder to get a better look at it. The brand gleamed a shiny white, trailing leisurely across her shoulder and up her neck. In human eyes, it was very beautiful, but the meaning was enough to make any rational person feel sick. She truly despised the turian who had decided this would be an appropriate brand; it was probably some sort of sick joke.

Shepard re-positioned her hair and settled down in her seat. They were fast approaching the inner circle of Cipritine. The natural plant growth was steadily getting more suppressed, and the sharp, angular buildings that defined Palaven's capital were becoming more and more common. Shepard braced herself for the hideous trial meeting that was no doubt heading her way.

The shuttle stopped outside the tallest building in Cipritine. "_Typical_," Shepard snorted. "_At least there was something both pathetic turian and human men had in common; the need to make up for what they lacked in their lower quarters."_

The tall building looked nothing like the skyscrapers that were characteristic to earth. It was a tall, sharp, silver building clearly designed by the same Turian who did most of Cipritine. The razor-sharp edges and needle-like triangles layered on top of each other repeatedly made the tower seem like some sort of exotic, metal plant. It looked both dangerous and organised at the same time.

The shuttle doors opened, and Garrus was snapped out of his inner musings. He watched Shepard stand, before he rose to his feet and stretched; resigned to the tiring day that the spirits clearly had in store for him. Shepard glared hatefully up at the towering mass of metal spikes and hidden glass windows. The battle-weary instincts that came as a result of her military career grumbled cautiously. Nothing good could come from being summoned here. She reluctantly followed him through the maze of a building, ignoring the blatant stares from the turians and surreptitious glances from the humans forced to work there.

The room was situated right at the top of the building, and the ceiling sloped sharply upwards until it reached a vicious peak. Government officials and the newly instated primarch were sat round a raised concave table overlooking the room, flanked by guards, sneering down at the room's only other occupants.

Garrus crossed his arms and sunk into a hip, purposely ignoring his father's gaze. Politics were nothing more than battles with words and he always assessed the battlefield. Shepard, on the other hand, outright glared hatefully at a very specific turian. She couldn't care less about the peons crowded adoringly around the Primarch. His casual, relaxed position irritated her to no end. This was Saren. He stood silent among the constant babble of those around him. His mandibles flared into an alien version of a smirk. Everything was his fault; all the slavery; all the hunters; all the deaths. This one monster was responsible for it all.

Pure hatred filled her. There was no anger; she didn't care about him enough to be angry, but she was able to hate him. A cold, empty calm filled her body. No hatred, no anger, just a slow, steadily increasing pressure, similar to a coil being wound up, tighter and tighter in her stomach.

Saren smiled, completely at ease with the situation, and sat up slightly in his throne. Still staring at the red-headed female, he leisurely lifted a hand. The officials fell silent immediately, peering anxiously at their leader. Shepard rolled her eyes, they were behaving like puppies, eager to please and utterly adoring of their new primarch. Saren rested his head on a hand, still smirking that irritating smile that sent shivers if disgust down Jane's spine. She bristled and tossed her long, flaming hair over a shoulder. The surreptitious hair flick had revealed her ruined brand, and she saw Saren's eyes narrow in displeasure. She stepped closer to Garrus subconsciously, wanting to be near someone she considered an ally.

Garrus wasn't about to doubt Shepard. Their tentative friendship was built on trust, but the training that had been beaten into him screamed in protest at this blatant act of insubordination. He saw Saren's eyes flicker to him for the first time since they'd been there. The good Turian his father wanted would've stepped away from Shepard, sneered at her, and come up with an excellent and believable excuse for the two shiny scars running diagonally towards the centre of her chest. Garrus was not a good turian, but he wasn't foolish. He stood his ground quietly.

Saren's displeasure was written clearly across his face, and General Vakarian was paying more attention to Garrus than he had for the last three years. Shepard stepped forward, her brand still causing whispered outrage among the generals, and raised an eyebrow. Saren's annoyance grew with the obviously mocking gestures their criminal was displaying. He glanced at the hierarchy members seated around the table. Shepard's lack of fear and submission was disappointing to him, but he could work it into his favor.

One of the government officials rose to his feet and addressed the odd pair,  
"Captain Vakarian, we have called this meeting to discuss an important matter of global peace". He glanced at the Primarch nervously, clearly trying to say things he approved of. Saren, however, just continued to survey Garrus and Shepard with calm, cold eyes.

Garrus nodded towards the speaker, unease prickling under his plates. Living with Shepard the past week made him question many long held conceptions, but he wasn't ready to pick a side just yet. Nor, did he understand why exactly they had been called here.

For the first time since the meeting had started Saren spoke, " Captain Vakarian, this morning we received confirmation that an attack against the human ship "The Taurus" was successful". His sub-harmonics radiated smug superiority, "and we have confirmed the death of the war criminal Captain Anderson."

A cold shiver of fear trailed down Jane's spine. The entirety of his speech, despite addressing Garrus, Saren had his eyes fixed on Shepard. Even without being able to read most turian expressions, Shepard noted with disgust the wide turian grin spread maliciously across his mandibles. "_He had to be lying"_ she thought desperately_._ Shepard had lost contact with the Taurus almost a month previous. Idiotically, she'd hoped that the ship was just hiding planet-side and would eventually resurface. Jane had no sentimental attachment to the ship itself, but Anderson was a friend, someone she enjoyed spending time with and respected considerably. Anderson had been a teacher, a friend, and a goal for Shepard to strive towards. When Shepard had received the devastating news that both her parents had been killed fighting the turians, Anderson had been a father. An unfamiliar numbness prevented Saren's harsh words from breaking her. Her carefully constructed walls had begun to fall, but she wasn't about to break yet. "You might have made me a slave, but I'm not mindless enough to believe the words of a turian without proof", Shepard's lip curled in contempt as she stared down the turian leader.

Garrus watched Shepard out of the corner of his eye. He'd never seen her act like this before. She was always fast to react, so alive and so vibrant that this sudden cold radiating off of her made the room feel like it had dropped a dozen degrees. He noticed it, and so did the Primarch. Saren. Garrus watched his superior relax again, Shepard was quick witted, yes, but Saren knew this, and understood that emotionally, she was a steel wall. Shepard was known to be a strong, independent, dangerous woman, and the humans looked up to her as one. To get that wall to crack would be so empowering for their race. It was playing dirty, and Garrus hated it.

Saren paused, pondering on his prisoner's demand. Whilst Shepard really wasn't in any position to make demands, a broken and mournful example was much more convincing than a strong and fiery one. A few decisive taps into his omni-tool and a glowing orange screen appeared behind Garrus and Shepard.

A grainy recording of _The Taurus_ flickered to life on the screen, whilst the crackle of missiles and guns punctuated space. There was no doubt in Shepard's mind that the ship on-screen was Anderson's pride. Alliance insignias' flashed on the wings and hull of the ship, and the tell-tale blue stripes of human resistance blazed defiantly in the semi-darkness of space. The ship was mid-battle, weapons continuously bombarding the approaching turian ships. The lone ship was hopelessly outnumbered and a large, gaping hole in the ship's hull sealed its fate. A rusty red planet behind them formed an angry background, framing the piece playing out in front of them with hopeless certainty. Shepard winced, and she felt a twinge of gratefulness for the direction that the screen faced; there was no way any of the rabid pyjacks behind her could see her expression.

Through the numb resignation in her brain, a sluggish recognition for the ship's background sparked. It was Mars. The last location Anderson had given her was in the Sol system, near Jupiter. The military tactician portion of her brain processed strings of possibilities and grudgingly admitted his final position could have wound up being near Mars. The crystal clear answer, cruel as it may be, rose to the surface of her mind like a resurrected shipwreck, its timbers ugly and bare in its harsh reality. Jane forced her disgust and overwhelming sorrow into an even tighter coil as the screech of tearing metal filtered through the room. The ship gave one last bellow, like a dying beast, as it plummeted into the planet's atmosphere.

Garrus had been watching his charge quietly. The fiery red-head's face was devoid of any emotion. She was completely blank, yet being so close to her, he could see the strong muscles in her arms and shoulders were rigid.

Humans were so strange; their little stick-like limbs, their slender hips, and their oddly flexible skin. Now he thought about it, everything about Shepard's race was flexible; their skin, their bodies, even their hair flowed and changed, adapting to it's surroundings easily. Human expressions were becoming easier and easier for Garrus to read. Their faces were far more expressive than turian ones; turians mostly use their mandibles to visually express feelings, but any other member of the species would be able to pick up on the slight changes in eye width and the positioning of the plates on their forehead. Humans, however, were a completely different matter. Although turian faces were less easy to read than the human equivalent, their sub-vocals painted a far wider painting of feelings. Shepard's race made barely any noise at all to express their feelings; no growling, no purring and definitely no sub-vocals. Occasionally they would laugh or cry out in pain, but the distinct lack of sub-vocals set any normal turian at a disadvantage at searching out human feelings. Still, Garrus found Shepard easier to understand than most of her species, and her puzzling reaction set him in edge.

There was nothing.

No pain, no hurt, no anger, and _no vibrancy _playing out across her face. He twitched uneasily. _"Why exactly is Captain Anderson so important to her?"_

"You're all Cowards", Shepard began, so quietly that those farther back almost couldn't hear her, "You've killed most of the alliance, all that's left on these ships are civilians. They pose almost no threat, and still you hunt them down and kill them under the pathetic pretense that they pose a threat to the galaxy? You may have twisted views on humanity, but during this mockery of a war, the Alliance never targeted your children or infirm, even when we had the chance", Shepard looked up at the table of Generals, her eyes so cold that their vibrant green seemed to dullen somehow. "What could a couple of hundred innocents do to a galaxy that already hates and fears them?"

Garrus stared slack-jawed at Shepard. _"Is she actually trying to appeal to their better nature? She's fought enough of us to know when our minds are set, almost nothing sways it."_ He couldn't help, however, feel a small swell of admiration for her attempt.

Shepard had seen enough of war and his race to know that once a turian had made up his mind on something, it was almost impossible to sway their opinion. Still, he felt a swell of admiration for her efforts.

Predictably, Saren glowered at the human in contempt. "Captain Anderson was most definitely not an innocent. Our men had orders to attack his ship on sight.

Garrus attempted to keep his mandibles from flicking in irritation. _"That's no excuse. Shepard was classified as our top threat and she was to be taken alive. Anderson was classified lower, but designated a kill on sight? Something doesn't add up."_

Shepard's eyes narrowed dangerously "Don't lie to me, turian. My sources say that I was labelled as far higher a threat than my superior, and you capture me but kill him? Don't patronize me".

They should know that underestimating her was a mistake by now; she's not stupid, and assuming she was would get you killed. Saren kept a relaxed stance, only a small quiver of his mandibles and slightly narrowed gaze betrayed his irritation. Shepard sunk into a hip, her hands bracketing her hips in challenge. The position placed her even closer to Garrus, so close, the bend of her elbow nearly brushed his waist. Garrus felt another traitorous swell of pride for the human beside him._ "__They should know that underestimating her was a mistake by now; she's not stupid, and assuming she was would get you killed.__"_

Saren rose to his feel and approached the two with a self-assured swagger. Garrus huffed slightly, eyeing the guards on either side of him, knowing they were responsible for Saren's inflated sense of superiority. Garrus felt Shepard tense, and allowed his armoured arm to brush hers casually. Any careful observer would miss the gesture, but Shepard knew Archangel was far too good to 'accidentally' brush her arm with his. Reinforced by his unspoken support, Shed stared the approaching Turian in the face, grateful for the numb feeling masking her sorrow in a shroud of blankness.

The Primarch leered at the commander, brimming with false self-assurance and confidence. Garrus stiffened slightly; he wasn't sure that if push came to shove, Shepard would be able to hold her own with an injured shoulder. Despite her obvious disadvantage, Jane stared calmly into his eyes.

"You'd do well to remember exactly who you're addressing. Your owner may tolerate it, but I won't. As for your esteemed leader, he admittedly was not at the top of our most wanted list, but that's not to say he wasn't classified as a high priority. Simply put, the fool was more useful to us dead than alive."

Shepard stepped forward, crowding the sadistic turian, her hands crackling blue with barely contained biotics. Garrus watched her cautiously from the corner of his eyes. _"Spirits Shepard. Don't do anything stupid. Pushing a Spectre is one thing, but attacking the Primarch is a death sentence."_ Jane wasn't stupid. She paused mere inches from Saren and watched as he tensed.

"Talk down to me as much as you want, but if you spin one more filthy lie about Anderson, I will personally castrate you in front of the whole of Palaven," Shepard's cold threat sent a shiver down Garrus' spine. _"She really is terrifying."_ Jane continued, "If you think his death will break me, you're wrong. And that's what this is all about, right? Breaking me and breaking humanity?" She stepped away from him, the biotic hum that encased her dissipating. "If you haven't learned yet, you never will. Humans are a hell of a lot more resilient than you think." Resisting the urge to spit in the repulsive turian's face, she spun on her heel, and walked out.

Shepard's stride faltered slightly when she heard the faint click of the door shutting behind her. She collapsed heavily on a bench just outside the doors as the last few moments caught up with her. _"He's dead. The only semblance of a family I had left in this messed-up universe had been murdered by these Turian assholes! And it's my damned fault"_.

She was so tired. Her body sagged under the combined weight of Anderson's death and responsibility for her remaining people. Shepard bit her lip, hoping the physical pain would distract her from the deep, searing hurt that shot through her insides and broke her heart. There, in the empty corridor, Jane cried for the first time since her parents died.

The click of the door shutting punctuated the now silent room. General Vakarian turned to stare coldly at his son. "This is highly disturbing and, dare I say it, disappointing, Captain Vakarian. When we gave Shepard to you, the Hierarchy was under the impression you could control her. I would suggest you teach her where her rightful place is." His sub vocals twanged in displeasure, but, as usual, no emotion showed across his face.

Garrus clenched his fists, talons digging into his palm; warm, sticky blue blood coated his palms, and anger bubbled through his veins. Garrus wasn't the good turian his father wanted, and he certainly wasn't Saren.

Garrus tilted his head to the side, surveying his father with cold eyes. "The Hierarchy gave her to me. I'll do, and let her do, what I see fit." He allowed his words to hover in the air for a few moments, relishing in the shocked silence. He shifted his gaze towards the Primarch. He knew what was expected of him. He was the son of a high ranking General and was himself a legend among turians, even if it was as the faceless Archangel. But since Saren's rise to power, he had found himself disgusted with his race's behavior. "With respect Primarch, it's been a long day and we have an even longer trip to return home." Without waiting for a reply, Garrus strode from the room.

General Vakarian stood and approached Saren, embarrassment nearly radiating from him. "I must apologize for my son's behavior," he began stiffly. "I will adjourn to the compound and discuss his actions with him immediately."

Saren held up a hand. "No need. This is a very interesting development we may be able to use in the future." His grey eyes settled on the door Garrus had walked out of. "Very interesting indeed."

* * *

Shepard rubbed her eyes, but the cold, salty tears refused to stop dripping down her face. _"You're Commander Shepard of the Alliance Navy for God's sake! You don't cry! You need to be able to handle anything. Be strong even when the worst case happens! You don't cry!"_ She refused to allow herself to cry. She refused to admit the tears were hers. Jane was so preoccupied by her inner scolding; she didn't notice the quiet click of the door behind her opening.

Garrus cocked his head slightly. Shepard was sitting on the bench, back to him. Her hands rubbed at her eyes and a vaguely salty smell permeated the air. Jane's breath was uneven as it ripped itself from her body. The harsh sound filled the hall. His brow plates shifted with confusion and puzzlement. _"Is she ill? Spirits, I don't know enough about humans."_ He reached out tentatively. On a normal day she was deadly as any other apex predator. Given her unusual behavior in the meeting room, she was now unpredictable. He had no idea how she'd react to his touch. Garrus carefully rested a hand on her shoulder. Jane sprung from the seat, panic clearly written across her flushed face. _"I probably should have made a noise so she knew I was here," _he thought in hindsight as he withdrew his hand.

He quickly took in the red that rimmed her eyes and the wet trails that ran down her cheeks. _"I've seen this before. The child on The Normandy had done this. Water appearing to come from the eyes."_ They stared at each other in silence. Shepard held her breath and Garrus suddenly became acutely aware of the closeness of their bodies; Jane had to crane her neck up to keep eye contact. Garrus knew he was new at reading human's emotions, but the sadness seemed to radiate off of Shepard in waves. The trails of water continued to drip down her face, settling against the exposed skin of her shoulder.

"What is this?" he murmured finally.

It took a while for Garrus' words to register in her brain. Shepard couldn't bring herself to be embarrassed for crying in front of him. In fact, amidst the overwhelming sense of loss clawing up her insides and shredding her heart, a tiny spark of almost hysterical amusement tickled her. She gave a small laugh at the gap in his knowledge, "I-I'm crying", Jane's voice broke halfway through her sentence, and she couldn't bring herself to look away from his worried, and still curious, gaze. Finally regaining motor function in her arms, she raised a hand in a failing attempt to stem her tears. Trying to infuse humor in her tone, Shepard forced a small, half-hearted smile onto her cheeks, "we primates do it when we have something in our eyes, when we're hurt, or when we're really, really sad".

The smile was so forced; even with his limited knowledge of human expression he knew it was fake. He lifted his hand from her cheek, crossed his arms, and sunk into a hip. "And what kind of advanced evolutionary defense mechanism is that," he joked softly. "All it does is reduced your eyesight."

Jane's lips twitched into a more normal smile, and she raised an eyebrow mockingly, "This coming from a space chicken with three talons instead of fingers? That's rich." She tried to sound snarky and natural, but her voice broke. She couldn't help it; a painful sob broke it's way through her barriers, and the facade broke. Shepard wrapped her arms protectively around her midsection as her head bowed forward.

Garrus needed to do something; his whole body tingled with the need to do something! As her master, he was meant to protect her, but he had no idea how to protect her from the turmoil of emotions bubbling inside of her. Garrus' body seemed to move on it's own, and before he knew it, he was encasing her in his arms, determined to protect her from this invisible pain. He felt her tense beneath him, and immediately regretted his split-second decision to help her. Just as he was about to say something, her whole body relaxed, and he felt long, soft, plate-less arms encircle his waist.

They stayed there fir a little while, until Shepard's sobs became less frequent, and her shaking had stopped all together. She lent back slightly, and Garrus dropped his protective hold on her. Their new position allowed her to pull her arms back and wipe her face, but wasn't far enough away to signify her discomfort. She looked up at him, and smiled a more natural smile. A small pool of confidence grew in his stomach, "So, what is it you use these seemingly pointless extra fingers for?"

A quiet huffing laugh escaped Shepard. Garrus gazed down at her, scrutinizing her mood. At least she looked better. Not entirely healed, not normal, but it was definitely Shepard's smile. Thank the spirits she wasn't crying; He'd had no idea what to do!

"Well, we use them to climb, grasp our weapons, and sometimes talk to each other." She rolled her eyes at his confused expression. "Sometimes humans are born without the ability to hear or speak. We use our hands to communicate with them. The military uses hand signals as well."

Shepard performed some seemingly random hand movements. "see?" She smiled. Garrus peered curiously at her hands, "_they're so different from my own hands,"_ he thought. _Tiny and delicate and pink. Such a contrast to our plated rough palms. She's so different from me physically. Yet when we spend time together it feels ok. Normal even."_ He felt a stab of sorrow at the thought. He pulled himself away from those thoughts and twitched a mandible humorously at her. "Can't imagine how you've survived without sub vocals, let alone with no hearing," he grumbled softly.

His hand extended towards her, cupping her elbow with his as he guided her down the hall. As they reached the end of the corridor, Shepard turned to face him. "Before I forget, I should warn you, don't sneak up on me like that again. I can't be blamed if I attack you!" the smirk never left her face, "You almost gave me a heart attack, you stupid space chicken."

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Sketch.


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